


could i have this kiss forever

by bulletthestars



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Costume Parties & Masquerades, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:58:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1840126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletthestars/pseuds/bulletthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Jenson meets a beautiful stranger on the night of a masked ball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	could i have this kiss forever

His hair is golden and his eyes are a stunning green and you watch, speechless as he moves across the dance floor.

You are not supposed to notice him. You are to find a _bride_. You are the Crown Prince of McLaren and next in line for the throne and you must marry and have children and do the right thing, not follow your heart or, well, parts of your anatomy other than your brain.

But you continue watching anyway, trying to look at him in your peripheral vision to no avail. He notices, looks up and turns your way and his lips quirk upwards in a smile. Gods above, he is stunning, but there is only so much you can see when he has that mask on. You want to tear it off to reveal his true beauty but at the same time you want him to keep it on, for some things are better left to the imagination.

A servant approaches, and you take the goblet of wine offered to you. You drink, swallowing long and hard, well aware that he is watching you now. The tables have turned — his gaze is on you and it burns.

The orchestra strikes up another tune and those on the dance floor scramble to find a partner. You keep your eyes on him but he is there for a moment and gone in the next, much to your chagrin.

What you do not expect is him appearing beside you, whispering low in your ear 'Meet me at the balcony.'

And you do. You run there, nearly tripping over your feet and it is ridiculous, really, because the King's summer palace has numerous balconies but you know that he can only be referring to that particular one that hardly anyone passes by. When you get there he is leaning against the railing, cravat undone and he looks beautiful like this, under the pale moonlight.

'Pleasure to meet you,' he says, no, _purrs_ and gods above, it should be a sin for someone like him to sound like this.

'The pleasure is all mine,' you murmur, licking your lips. This is the last thing you should be doing. you should be finding a bride, not running around the palace trying to seduce a handsome stranger. Or perhaps it is the other way round, and perhaps he is not too much of a stranger. Only someone familiar with the royal family would know their way around like this, and you try to recall the different princes and earls and dukes who have been here before but this man in front of you does not quite fit with what you can remember. So you walk closer, closer, so close that all that separates the both of you are the masks that you wear. 'May I?'

'How polite,' he whispers. Then he is leaning up and kissing you, pressing his lips hard against yours and you reach for him, cupping his head and he sighs, lips parting so you can taste him. He tastes of wine and summer fruit and when he pulls away, breathless, there is a light in his eyes that you have never quite seen before and really, it is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

'Come with me,' you say, taking his wrist.

He looks up at you, brow furrowed. Is he hesitating? Regretting? Maybe _you_ should be regretting. This is a stupid thing to do, and the King and Queen will notice your absence if you do not return to the ballroom soon. But his hesitation disappears soon enough, and he follows as you lead him to one of the many private chambers the palace houses.

You end up with him beneath you on the bed, fully naked save for the mask on his face. His cheeks are flushed and his hips jerk forward at your touch and you reach to unlace the strings of his mask but he catches your hand, stopping you.

'Leave it.' There is something different about this; it is almost as if he is begging you and what exactly could he be afraid of? But if he keeps his mask on so can you, and your identity will be kept secret. ' _Please_.'

Really, how can you refuse what an angel asks of you? You kiss him and tell him that all is well, and he relaxes under your touch, flinching under your gaze when you admire his body all laid out underneath you. His thighs are splayed and when you push into him with fingers slick with ointment he lets out the most exquisite cries of pleasure, clutching at your hand, asking for more. His eyes are squeezed shut and his lips are parted and when you thrust into him he wraps his legs around you and demands that you move faster. He wants it harder, rougher, wants you to leave marks on his skin and you oblige because you want him to look at those bruises in the morning light and think of how you had possessed him the night before.

His fingernails sink into your skin, clawing long crimson lines down your back and when he climaxes he bites hard on your shoulder. It hurts, of course it does, but afterwards you have him shuddering beneath you, boneless and pliant and when he looks up at you his eyes are shining and all the words in the universe could not describe the sight before you.

(But there is something that unsettles you about this because all throughout he had been drawn out moans and choked sobs but in between those you had been so sure you had heard your name leave his lips, a soft impassioned cry, _Jenson_ , but you have had at least three goblets of wine and it is a beautiful summer night and you are in bed with a beautiful man, no, _boy_ , and surely, you must be imagining things)

You want to lie in bed with him, with your arm wrapped around his waist and have him press against you, curling up together on a night like this. But the night is still young, the orchestra continues playing tune after tune and the wine keeps flowing. You dance on, and he disappears into the crowd once more.

In the morning, you tell yourself to forget the events of the night before. You will hold court someday, you will cease to be Crown Prince Jenson of McLaren and you will rule on that throne that your father sits on before you. You must do the right and sensible thing, even if it hurts you to do so.

'May I present, Prince Nico of Mercedes.'

Your head jerks up sharply. Those familiar eyes, that chin, that golden hair. The beautiful stranger from the night before, and this is who he is without the mask. Nico. _Nico_. You remember the boy from years ago, two summers younger than you and you remember jousting both verbally and physically and you had laughed when he had tackled you and pinned you to the ground after you had teased him for looking too much like a princess rather than a prince. He had asked you afterwards, voice completely serious, if you would take him as your queen if he had really been a princess and flustered, you had distracted him and brushed his question aside. How many summers had you spent together, so close that you could have been joined at the hip? You have not seen him again after the years of your boyhood and how he has changed, that jut of his chin is no longer familiar and oh. _Oh_.

Gods above. This is not going to end well, and you can feel it with every fibre of your being.

His eyes flicker upwards, meeting your gaze momentarily before dropping to the ground again.

'Greetings, Your Majesties and Your Royal Highness.' He bows before stepping aside. A long procession of servants file into the court, and your heart sinks.

Men may lie with one another, but a king can only rule with a queen by his side.

You know what words will leave his lips before he even says them. You cannot hear them over the sound of your heart breaking.

**Author's Note:**

> -inspired by [these photos](http://rosbergs.tumblr.com/post/89666716880/4-5-days-to-nico-rosbergs-birthday).  
> -title from [this enrique iglesias and whitney houston song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zsfj9j0kjoU).


End file.
